False Assumptions
by AgentMandark
Summary: People whispered many things about recently-married couple Daniel and Samantha Fenton. Oddly enough, Sam doesn't seem to mind. But Granny Manson does. An angst-turned-humor revelation story.


**Note: Disregard Phantom Planet. Since I have a creative license, I can pretend it never happened.**

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><p><span><em><strong>False Assumptions<strong>_

**_Part One_**

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><p>"All right, 'fess up."<p>

Sam started at the sudden sound of her grandmother's voice, swerving around from where she had been washing dishes to stare uneasily at the old woman. On her grandmother's face was a deep, serious frown—and the sight was so foreign to her that Sam nearly recoiled in shock.

"'Fess up? About what?"

Instead of answering, Granny wheeled herself away without another word. Sam immediately picked up on the silent command. _Follow me_.

Sighing, the young raven-haired Goth set down the plate she had been washing and turned the sink off. Though her elder hadn't given away any hint as to what they needed to discuss, Sam knew full well what the topic of their conversation would be.

She dried her hands on the towel hanging off one of the cabinets before she proceeded through the alcove her grandmother had passed through moments before. Mentally preparing herself for what she knew would be a serious argument, she took a few calming deep breaths and prepared to recite her excuses. Had it been her parents, the preparation would be unnecessary. Obnoxious and stubborn as they were, they never could fully support their statements, much less make decent comebacks against Sam's.

Granny Manson, on the other hand, was a force to be reckoned with. She was, after all, the woman who passed down her spunk to Sam—the woman who, praise Almighty Jesus, prevented Sam from becoming a pink-obsessed, eyelash-batting, spineless miniature version of her mother.

Feelings of guilt started to weigh down upon her stomach, yet Sam's resolve didn't waver. This battle was one that couldn't be lost.

She stepped into the Manson estate's dining room, determinedly meeting the heated eyes glowering at her from across the long, elegant dinner table. With a confident grace, she strode over to the opposite end of the table, never once breaking eye contact. As soon as she reached her seat, she sat down ever-so-quietly and propped her elbows on the table in a business-like matter.

In spite of the flickering fireplace to the wall adjacent to her, there was a chill in the air. A chill that danced along Sam's skin, making her anxiety spike. Despite that she had bravely fought ghosts on numerous occasions and had endured countless life-or-death situations without a trace of fear, fighting with her grandmother, for some reason, made her nervous like nothing else.

It took a few minutes of intense silence until Granny spoke up.

"There's a lot of rumors going around Amity Park."

_Oh boy, here we go._

Without a beat, Sam quickly replied, "I thought you didn't believe in rumors."

Her grandmother's lips quirked a bit. "I don't believe in rumors that have no proof."

"Proof?" There was disbelief in her voice.

"Yes," her grandmother crisply responded, "Proof."

Unsure how much, exactly, the old woman knew, Sam worded her next sentence very carefully. "Proof such as…?"

"I've looked into his file, Samantha," her elder stated, "Researched some police reports in which he was involved, talked to his former neighbors..."

Sam's eye twitched. She didn't need clarification on who _he _was.

"You _stalked _him?"

"Oh, no. I merely observed him, is all. Got to know him a bit better. Not that I really needed to—I have all the evidence I need sitting across the table from me."

"_Evidence_?"

"Of course. You're all the evidence I need."

"What the hell—"

"_Language."_

Had the situation not been serious, Sam might have laughed at the old habit.

"Fine," she muttered stiffly. "What the…devil…do you mean by 'evidence'?"

Her grandmother's gaze hardened, and Sam felt her heart skip a beat. "You know exactly what I mean. I've seen it for myself. He leaves you Sam—every night, he leaves you. No excuse, no reasoning, he leaves."

"It's his job," Sam retaliated, the rehearsed words seeming fake even to her own ears, "He has to—"

"_Don't cover up for him!"_Granny yelled.

At her grandmother's outburst, they both bell into silence once again.

Granny sighed, clearing her throat and rubbing her temples. "I don't like yelling like this to you, Sam. If I didn't have to, I wouldn't." Her tone turned cold again. "But I refuse to just sit here and watch as my own _bubeleh_ gets used by some tool—"

The more her grandmother rambled, the more Sam could feel her heart sink. The accusations, the words…granted she was right, in a sense. But she didn't understand—she couldn't possibly understand. Danny wasn't a tool, wasn't a freakshow…he was…

"He's a scumbag, Samantha! A scumbag—"

Dear God, she couldn't take it anymore. Slowly, silently, Sam got up and headed towards her grandmother, walking with a slow, gentle grace as if she were a mother going to comfort her child.

"—who doesn't explain himself when he leaves at night and doesn't have a legitimate job. In high school he would show up every day with a new bruise or scar—people suspect he used to be in a _gang_, Samantha. Don't you dare tell me I'm wrong because I've looked into the school database myself and I saw all of the things on his file. All the detentions he got and the horrible grades—what do you see in him anyway? Because you know what I see? I see a—"

"Grandma," Sam whispered softly, both trying to comfort her grandmother and herself. It was one thing having random citizens making false assumptions about Danny, but hearing it from her beloved Grandmother…

She was nearing the other side of the table.

"—loser. That's what I see. A violent, dangerous, two-timing, untrustworthy _loser_ who doesn't respect you or this family. A loser who has nutjob parents—"

"Have you ever met his parents?"

Her grandmother continued, ignoring the question, "—and doesn't give you the support or care that you _deserve_."

She stopped there, her eyes moistening up as she stared sullenly down at the placemat in front of her. The fire Sam had seen blazing in her eyes before was replaced by something else—emptiness.

"I love you, Sam. I truly do. Seeing someone as incredible as you are…married to someone like _him_…you're miserable. I can tell. When you come to our Sunday dinners alone, without him, scrambling for some excuse that everyone knows is a bunch of nonsense—it's obvious. Even your parents are concerned. And for once, I'm with them."

The tears welling up blocked her grandmother's eyes from seeing Sam take a seat in the chair diagonal to her. Without a word, not that any were needed, Sam gingerly cradled her grandmother's wrinkled hands, rubbing tentative soothing circles.

Outside the window overlooking the massive room, snow that had been furiously darting to cover the earth changed pace. Tiny snow flurries fluttered side-to-side before hitting the ground, as if being rocked to sleep.

Had Granny been more observant than emotional, she probably would have caught Sam's momentary sharp gaze directed towards the window.

Only the crackle from the fireplace and the whistle of the wind outside provided any noise. Once again, the two—grandmother and granddaughter—had lapsed into a silence, though one more comfortable and easy-going than the others occurring minutes beforehand.

"Granny," Sam said eventually. "Do you trust me?"

Rather than answer, the recipient of the question sadly nodded her head—her eyes still having not yet left the space before her.

"Then trust me when I say you could not have possibly misinterpreted the situation any more than you already have."

Cautiously, her grandmother dared a glance towards her. To her shock, Sam's eyes had that…_look_…in them. The _look_ that got in her eyes when she proclaimed how important the environment was to her, or when she protested against animal abuse and eating meat. The _look _that meant whatever she was saying, she meant it.

It was with this _look_ that Sam declared, "I love Danny, Granny. And he loves me. If you knew anything about him, you would know that there's no man on this earth that could _possibly_ care about me the way he does. He may not be around much, but believe me when I say he wishes he could be."

They both held one another's gaze, and Sam found—much to her relief—the anger and concern in her grandmother's eyes slowly fading.

"Granny?"

"So let me get this straight," her grandmother stated with a calculating look. "You know—_for a fact_—that he's nothing like what I described him to be before."

Rolling her eyes, Sam answered, "A hundred percent."

"So…he's not a man whore?"

And just like that, her grandmother changed the tense war zone into an uncomfortable and awkward interrogation.

"No."

"He doesn't do heroin?"

"He doesn't do _any _drugs, actually."

"Doesn't qualify for an asylum?"

"Nope."

"Treats you right?"

"Always."

"Doesn't secretly rape children?"

"Not at all."

"Is he a secret agent?"

"Um, he can barely walk across a flat surface without tripping. What do you think?"

"He's not gay, is he?"

"We're married."

"All right, fine…Does he work at a male strip club?"

"Granny, he's not Magic Mike."

"Okay, okay…he's still good in bed, though, right?"

"GRANNY!"

"What? I need to make sure my little girl has fun with her future-baby-making-process. You know what they say—good sex leads to great children!"

Sam was beginning to suspect these questions had nothing to do with making sure Danny was an appropriate husband for her.

"Are we done with the questioning here?"

"No!" her grandmother exclaimed. "I still need to make sure I'm having decent grandchildren in the future. Aside from you, I have no other minds to corrupt!"

Suddenly, the fireplace seemed like a nice place for Sam to stick her head into.

"Granny," Sam sighed. "You _do_ realize we're only twenty-five."

Her grandmother scoffed, "Oh please. I've been having kids since I was eighteen!"

Grumbling to herself, Sam stood up and pushed her chair in, walking quickly towards the exit of the house. "I hereby declare over this conversation over."

"Wait," Granny quickly called, before Sam could leave the room, "Does this mean he'll be around more often?"

The forlorn look on Sam's face clearly gave her answer.

"I…" she trailed off, staring at the snow outside. "I'll…talk to him. But honestly, I really don't know. Chances are, no."

Silence.

"I…understand, I suppose." Granny paused before asking, "Can he at least try to make Sunday dinner? It would mean a great lot to me and your parents if he came, for once."

This time, however, the only response Granny got was the sound of Sam's hasty footsteps until she slipped out the front door.


End file.
